


Triple Shot

by Little_Lottie (tfwatson)



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Anal Sex, Come play, Established spinnix, Established winnix, M/M, Officer OT3, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, POV Alternating, PWP, Rimming, Sub/dom dynamic, Threesome - M/M/M, mention of canon compliant alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 18:24:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9561353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwatson/pseuds/Little_Lottie
Summary: "Is nobody going to say we can’t do this here?” Nix asks, gaze flicking between them. His voice is colored with lust, but there’s a slightly astonished expression on his face which makes Ron grin wider.It's ridiculous that of the three of them, Nix is the one acting scandalized. He’s not. He's probably just trying to work out how he’s gotten this lucky and which devil he needs to sell his soul to in order to keep it that way.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There was some fantastic Officer OT3 talk on Tumblr and I just couldn't resist writing some PWP *blushes and hides*. This fic is set during Points - location courtesy of Goring's wine cellar.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it <3
> 
> Thank you so much to the very lovely whip_pan for being such a fantastic beta and cheerleader <33

**_Dick_ **

Cracks of light glint off thousands of bottles, throwing stars into Nix’s eyes, and all Dick can do is watch.

 

It’s impossible to turn away when Nix looks like this, flushed and awed and excited, gazing up and around, and then back at Dick like he’s somehow re-imagined heaven. The sight makes Dick’s breath catch in his throat.

 

Armies of bottles, alight with mischief, watch on in anticipation. If glass and liquor could talk, Dick thinks these bottles must have stories to tell. Stories of extravagance, decadence. Maybe evil. Nix would know more about that, and they might talk about it later, but right now Nix is too enrapt with his gift, and his breathless amazement is far too distracting for Dick to wonder what versions of its master the wine cellar might have been privy to.

 

For now he just smiles, full beam with the joy of seeing Nix so awestruck. He could stand on the sidelines and watch Nix and nothing else on any given day, but he takes even greater pleasure in it today. This is just the start of a bigger plan.

 

On the face of it, Nix is brighter now that he’s back with Easy, but in reality Dick knows he’s been wound tight since they entered Berchtesgaden. The resentfully privileged Yale boy was never going to be impressed with the silver and diamonds and crystal. Where Speirs is pragmatic, Nix is drawn into himself, and into thoughts that lead him to brood on how the treasures were most likely acquired. Sometimes he thinks that Nix sees the ghosts of Landsberg when he looks at piles of silverware.

 

Readily available champagne has lightened his bones and spirits, but occasionally, and when sober, Dick can see shadows creep into his eyes and watches him swallow back bile. Often with this war, nothing can help. But Dick knows one sure fire way to make Nix feel free, at least for a night. Or an afternoon.

 

He turns to leave with laughter on his lips, knowing Nix will follow soon enough, but pauses even before he's taken the first step. Speirs is standing at the top of the stairs, champagne-loose and handsome as the devil. There’s an intense look on his face, expectant and hopeful, wrapped in a surprisingly shy smile.

 

So Dick’s plans may need reassessing, but he’s always been good at thinking on his feet.

 

~

 

**_Nix_ **

 

Nix’s eyes slowly tick over the racks of liquor, and he feels like he’s shrugging off a jacket of iron chains. It’s not the alcohol, although God knows when he’ll lose the buzz from this sight. It's Dick. And it's because this gesture means something.

 

Part of his mind leaves Göring’s cellar and reappears in shared quarters in Toccoa, when in the dead hours of night they’d tumbled in sheets and laughed quietly into pillows so that the rest of the boys wouldn’t hear. Nix remembers Dick’s soft smile, his bare skin blanketed in moonlight, and he can hear the echoes of his own warning: _“Never give me anything. Especially love. I break things.”_ Dick’s been finding ways ever since to tear away pieces of his heart and hand them over, and Nix doesn’t stop him.

 

Nix wants to kiss him, to show him how each and every way that Dick shows his love is like a balm on Nix’s soul. He thinks that maybe he could let the champagne bottle drop from his loose grip, let it smash into tiny shards like his own dependence and turn his back on the cellar completely.

 

When he looks over his shoulder, the laughing, carefree grin on Dick’s face is like dawn. The way it slides into something lower, darker and more heated when he looks up at the door is something else entirely. And as Speirs rounds the bottom of the stairs, Nix realizes why.

 

With a heavy, shared glance, there’s a charge in the air. It’s more than just Ron’s presence, which often feels like struck kindling, a coiled spring, a lit fuse. It's a visceral hunger that snaps like static around the three of them more often than not of late - ever since Speirs found them one night, careless in the rush after Foy. Now every time an opportunity presents itself, there’s a thrum between them that forces a shiver and licks burning hot lust low in their bellies.

 

If he and Dick are an _‘always’_ thing, which he hopes they are, then the three of them are a _‘sometimes’_ thing. A way out of the war thing, because they’ve found that the only way to silence their demons is in each other’s arms.

 

Nix watches Speirs with a grin. There’s an eagerness in the lieutenant’s eyes that runs deeper than the haze of drink as he passes Dick, deliberately close. His hair looks tempting and prophetically sex-mussed, dark eyes flashing under the lights. A flush rides high across Ron’s cheekbones as he looks around, and suddenly Nix surveys the room very differently: a bar at hip height, a thick sturdy stone pillar, walls upon walls of liquor. It’s a tableau of sin down here and the thought sends a sudden, heavenly chill up his spine.

 

~

****

**_Ron_ **

 

Speirs isn’t afraid to ask for what he wants, but today he lets the silence scream it for him. Dick and Nix know why he’s here and the air in the room is taut with expectation.

 

He wants to order the cellar clear, but he looks to Winters first. Intense blue eyes lock with his as Dick nods slowly. Permission, approval, it rolls into one in Ron’s head and he turns to the two privates with hazy drink-dazed eyes and indicates for them to leave with a quick flick of the hand.

 

“O’Keefe, stay on guard,” Dick adds.

 

Nix is watching the soldiers’ hastily retreating forms with a lopsided smirk. “This is how rumors start,” he jokes as the upstairs door shuts and locks. Speirs just grins wolfishly before turning heated eyes to Winters. He waits. In his peripheral, he sees Nix tighten his grip on the bottle.

 

“Is nobody going to say we can’t do this here?” Nix asks, gaze flicking between them. His voice is colored with lust, but there’s a slightly astonished expression on his face which makes Ron grin wider.

 

It's ridiculous that of the three of them, Nix is the one acting scandalized. He’s not - he's probably just trying to work out how he’s gotten this lucky and which devil he needs to sell his soul to in order to keep it that way.

 

As Nix looks between them, his lips curl in a slow grin. “Christ,” he murmurs. “I struck gold with you two.” He tips the bottle, smile obvious in his eyes even as his mouth wraps around the glass neck.

 

He watches Nix’s lips purse as he takes a pull of the liquid, tracks the movement of his throat and wants to moan. Instead, he takes a decisive step closer. He tries not to shiver as Dick pulls himself off the wall with a quick, cautionary look up the stairs and re-positions himself between them as though the sight of Nix’s lips are drawing him in too.

 

The low light plays over them all, soft despite the tension. As soon as Nix lowers the bottle, Dick reels him in with a finger through his belt loop and kisses away the shine from his lips.

 

From where he’s standing, he has the perfect vantage point as the kiss quickly turns dirty. They sync flawlessly and it’s beautiful to watch. He’s witnessed a handful of kisses like this. Dick always takes control quickly; Nix melts even quicker.

 

With a shuddering exhale and a stab of desire, Ron watches the slick, feverish kiss. After a long heated moment, Nix meets his gaze, smirking against Dick’s lips like he knows exactly what they look like and is enjoying the sweet torture they’re inflicting. Nix’s eyes twinkle as he draws back just enough so that Ron can see the next slide of their tongues. And God, does he moan then.

 

At the sound, Dick pulls away from Nix’s lips to look over his shoulder. He’s the epitome of calm and collected, but his pupils are blown. He glances back, indicating to Nix and the bottle, and when he speaks, it’s a low command. “Come on, Nix. Share.”

 

His voice is like velvet over steel, it’s sexy as  hell and lets them know that he’s prompting Nix into more than just manners. The purr of it simmers in the air, crawls over Ron’s skin, and Nix gasps quietly in the same second that Ron quivers like champagne bubbles are fizzing across his skin.

 

“The bottle or the kiss?” Nix asks, licking his bottom lip. His needy eyes watch Speirs but the question is for Dick alone.

 

Intense blue eyes fall on Ron. “You want to decide?”

 

Ron smiles. He already knows that he wants Dick to choose for him, but he’s tempted to play. Nixon knows his way around this territory like another of his maps. He knew Winters by heart before he’d even set eyes on Speirs, but he knows Ron too and doesn’t _that_ just make Ron want to push him off kilter.

 

“I want him to take his shirt off,” he says, eyes sparkling. He steps back and looks at Nix expectantly.

 

Nix’s jaw drops and he glares back sharply, bristling at the order from Ron’s lips. They both have a flair for the dramatic, and this is part of the game. Ron smirks; Nix never fails to rise to the bait.

 

Dick’s lips quirk as he tries to suppress his amusement. “That’s not an option yet.”

 

Taking a shaky breath, Ron drops the act. The nerve endings on his skin feel exposed with the agony of waiting, but it’s a delicious torture. The pale skin of Nix’s face is flushed, his soft lips parted, eyes wide, and the desire to touch, to taste, to bury his hands in Nix’s carefree tussle of hair and just _feel_ , is overwhelming.

 

But he can’t. Not yet. Everything tastes sweeter when he’s following Dick’s orders.

 

“You decide,” he breathes.

 

Dick nods quickly and tells Nix, “Drink first.”

 

Nix takes a couple of steps forward until there’s just a pace between them. The tension in the air seems to pack itself tighter, a magnetic current readying to take hold and crash them together when they get close enough.

 

Raising the bottle to Ron’s mouth, Nix rests it against his bottom lip and uses the weight of it to drag his mouth open. Nix breathes faster, and Ron’s whole body tenses with lust. He tastes alcohol on his lips and tongue, then he swallows and wonders if it looks as good as when Nix does it. Nix’s eyebrows twitch together and he bites his lips on a whine, so Ron supposes that maybe it does.

 

“Jesus, you both look so good,” Dick murmurs. Nix keens, his grip on the bottle stuttering. Ron bites his lip, really fucking happy because they got Dick to cuss.

 

“Dick,” Nix pleads, still looking at Ron as he carelessly puts the bottle down on the counter. The glass clinks on the granite. It's the only sound other than the soft whisper of breath as Nix and Ron wait for Dick’s answer.

 

“You can kiss him now,” Dick says.

 

Not a second later, Nix rushes forward to lick the moisture from the corner of Ron’s mouth. His eyes flutter closed as he grabs two handfuls of drab green jacket and hauls Nix in to crash a kiss to his lips.

 

Nix moves against him greedily, lips pliant, sliding wet and wicked against his. Dick’s hand on his neck is firm, and when Nix nudges his tongue into Ron’s mouth, his moan sends little echoes of desire vibrating through his body.

 

Hands in Nix’s hair, and down his face, and round his shoulders, their tongues dance. Nix is one hell of a dirty kisser. A fucking great kisser. And a line of sweat is forming on Ron’s brow with the effort it takes to keep his hips from rocking forward - he’s sure that’s not allowed yet. He can feel Nix’s hands shake as they rub down his chest over layers of fabric, skittering back up before they go too low.

 

Dick’s voice is a honeyed purr in Nix’s ear, calm but darker too. “You can touch him.”

 

 _So_ , Ron thinks, _he doesn’t want to wait either._

 

Nix scrabbles at Ron’s belt, creating only enough space between them so that he can get both of his hands on the clasp and slip his fingers under the waistband.

 

He’s already hard. Has been more than halfway there since the balcony, where Nix had been all doe-eyed, charming and smart, darting knowing looks to where Ron had been sitting at his feet. Then there’d been Winters, authoritative yet cheerful, a good news angel with a spine of steel. And finally, Lipton, the temptation he hadn’t given in to yet. He couldn’t stay once Nix and Dick had left - he was too drunk, too loose-lipped. He knew when he was beat.

 

The sudden tight grip of Nix’s hand around his cock after all the longing is a fierce surge of pleasure through every nerve. His jaw drops open in a silent cry, body curling inwards at the hot coil of heat and grabs Nix’s shoulders desperately.

 

“Easy, Ron.” The words relax his muscles and hum in his bones. He knew way before this even started that Dick’s voice could soothe the visceral hunger inside him - they coat his body and mind till the safety switch re-engages. "We've got you."

 

Dick maneuvers him while he’s still adjusting to the way Nix strokes him hard and rough, the way he knows he likes. When the shock of the first few slides subsides and his brain catches up, he becomes aware that they’re now against a pillar and Dick’s chest is at his back.

 

Nix has diligently followed them, now working on unfastening Ron’s fly to give him better access. The clank of the belt buckle echoes in the room as his pants hit the floor. Then Nix hits the floor. On his knees, eyes drinking in the outline of Ron’s cock, he looks both debauched and reverent. He nuzzles Ron’s hip, his inner thigh, soft skin meeting the scratch of stubble. Ron has to hiss in a breath when Nix bites his already kiss-bruised bottom lip and massages a thumb against the dark patch on Ron’s boxers.

 

“So patient,” Dick murmurs, slipping a hand under his shirt and rubbing a burning path from naval to clavicle.

 

Ron whines and resists the urge to snap his hips forward. He’s rewarded when he feels Dick nodding his head at Nix over his shoulder and his boxers are slowly lowered to his feet. Dick’s hands slide back down his sides, calluses catching and making Ron shiver. The hands run on, down past the swell of his ass and up again, before gripping his hips and guiding him forward into Nixon’s waiting mouth.

 

A groan punches its way out of Ron’s throat at the first wet slide. He throws his head back against Dick’s shoulder, gasping out Nixon’s name, a single worded prayer of thanks for the lips that wrap around him in a slick ring of friction, for the mouth that’s searing hot and sucking hard, and because his memories hadn’t exaggerated: Nix is really fucking good at this.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

 

Ron bucks his hips, helpless, desperate and rough. But one snap forward is all he gets before Dick’s hands clamp tight. Thumbs dig into the hollows of his hips and drag him back, keeping him still and making him moan at the heavenly mixture of frustration and pleasure.

 

“Don’t. Move.”

 

His body shakes with the command and with the heat of Nix’s lust drunk eyes. In one quick look, he and Nix exchange an unspoken agreement. They won’t follow the order because they have to. They’ll follow it - chase after it - because they want to, need to, because they trust Dick with their souls as well as their lives.

 

Nix looks awed, in the same way he always does when it’s like this. He’ll never get enough of Dick giving the best of orders in his quietly authoritative voice and Ron begging for it.

 

Ron will never get enough of it either. He grits his teeth and holds on, bracing himself to keep his body as still as he can while Nix works his mouth and lips along his shaft, silky soft.

 

Dick reaches down. Curling a hand to Nix’s cheek, he uses his thumb to gently nudge Ron’s cock as it plunges in and out of Nix’s lips. It looks obscene, and Ron loves it. He loves it so much that he has to slam his eyes shut to keep control.

 

He relaxes into Nix’s rhythm and lets Dick hold all the tension. He gets so lost in reckless pleasure that he doesn’t realize how worked up he’s getting, but Dick must feel the tremble in his thighs.

 

“Lew, that’s enough,” he says, nipping Ron’s ear before adding, “Not yet.”

 

The loss of this orgasm will hurt, but Ron still has the presence of mind to bite back his needy moan. Nix seems to sigh around him - in disappointment or pleasure, Ron isn’t sure - and lets his erection slip from lips that are spit slick and swollen red.

 

In the next breath Nix tilts his head so that the tip of his cock traces a deliciously messy line of spit and precome across his cheekbone. Ron gasps at the sight. His hips jerk minutely as his erection twitches and leaks indecently by Nix’s cheek, a dull _tap_ as drops of precome echo off the floor. And Nix just grins, filthy and delighted.

 

There’s a silent laugh bubbling up in Dick’s chest. Ron can _feel_ it against his back. It makes him wonder how many times Winters has laughed this quiet little chuckle and nobody even knew it - not the men or the brass or the rest of the world. Nobody except, Ron suspects, Nix.

 

It’s a fleeting thought and does very little to calm his desire while Nix is on his knees, dirtied up from blowing him, and while Dick is alternately pinching, then soothing, over a nipple. Nix has stopped, but as close as Ron was, he could still come from this and Dick knows it. That’s why he’s circling the base of Ron’s dick with his thumb and forefinger tightly.

 

Dick turns him around. With just a tap on the hip and one word, Speirs is moving in Nix’s hold until he can feel warm breath on the dip of his lower back, and he’s looking into the blackening blue of Dick’s eyes. He’s completely compliant under Dick’s hands, holding a white flag. The warm floating sensation of submission drives away every other thought.

 

Dick strokes down his back - two hot, broad, competent hands stripping away his layers as they slide down either side of his spine until they fit the curve of his ass. Dick kisses away the tiny gasp he makes and spreads his cheeks.

 

He can’t hear the choked off moan that Nix makes over the wet slick sound of his mouth meeting Dick’s, and he can’t see the way that Nix shudders with desire, but he can feel the contact points of his fingertips, trembling slightly, where he slots them between Dick’s.

 

Ron knows they’re holding him open, on display and wanting, and his eyes slide out of focus. At the first broad stripe of Nix’s tongue over his rim he’s pressing forward and then straight back for more, gasping little cries and whimpering moans against Dick’s shoulder.

 

Sighing, his eyes roll back, hips rocking. Dick smiles against his temple and encourages his grind with strong hands on his hips. He has the firm line of Dick’s chest against his as his cock slides between their stomachs in the slick of their arousal, and he sinks, letting the weight of lives and responsibility slope off his shoulders.

 

He breathes heavily against Dick’s collarbone, a tempting sliver of pale skin exposed where he’s hastily opened the top buttons and dragged Dick’s undershirt down. Ron can taste the sin in the air and the salt on Dick’s shoulder when he darts his tongue out to lap at bare skin.

 

His whole body buzzes with the writhing surge of three bodies moving together, and he loses his mind to the cadence of encouraging words, drizzled like honey from Dick’s lips. Dick has somehow eased a hand between their bodies and is taking Ron into his fist. Every lazy pump rushes him closer to the edge.

 

Through the rolling, growing chaos of pleasure, Ron vaguely acknowledges that Dick has grabbed a bottle. Even though he knows Dick won't be drinking, the first splash of liquid on his shoulder still shocks him forward into the tight circle of Dick’s hand. The liquor is a chill on his fevered skin. It runs down his flank like a caress.

 

~

 

**_Dick_ **

 

Leaning close, Dick mutters what he hopes are calming words into the frigid air. Energy crackles across his skin, jumping like volts from a tesla coil through the air… through _them_. It's Ron and Lew and the heat of sweet friction, and Dick has to take a moment to collect himself.

 

He can’t stop trailing over the flushed skin of Ron’s neck with his teeth, sucking on the pulse point, practically growling into dark hair as Ron rolls his hips forward in a tight circle.  God help him, he can’t even remember the last time he gave the stairs even a cursory glance.

 

Down on the floor, Nix’s tongue is persistent. He’s following the jerk of Speirs’ hips without pause.  Dick watches him from over Ron’s shoulder, smiles at the hunger he sees in eager brown eyes. He runs his hands up and down the ridges of Ron’s ribs, tender and firm, just to tease out goose bumps and make him writhe.

 

“Good,” he murmurs, jerking Speirs slowly and admiring the choked off little moans he makes - ones that nobody would believe could fall from the lips of Ronald Speirs.

 

When he tilts the bottle again, he starts at the nape of Ron’s neck so that the alcohol slides in a trickling stream down the curve of his spine. Ron whimpers. And so does Nix before he growls and presses even closer, pawing at Ron’s ass in rough handfuls and fucking his tongue further into his heat.

 

“Oh, fuu…”

 

Dick can feel the hitch of Ron’s breath, his muscles bunching, hips rutting into the v of his own. They’re all cues that let him know Ron’s close, so he reaches down and grabs a tight handful of thick hair and tugs. Nix pulls back instantly and Ron is hauled from the brink, ecstasy ripped away from him at the last second. In a daze, Ron snaps his hips back, semi-conscious in his defiance.

 

“Stop,” Dick commands with a singing slap to the meat of his ass. The sound smacks off the walls.

 

There’s a long, charged moment in which Dick starts to think he’s gone too far, then Ron’s face relaxes and he gasps in pleasure.

 

“One more.”

 

Speirs doesn’t say anything, barely murmurs. Dick knows how desperate he’s feeling, but how good it will be for him in the end.

 

“Yeah, that’s right. You can do it.”

 

Ron curls into him with a groan, offering his lips to be claimed, giving himself eagerly until he can no longer hold the kiss. He’s glassy eyed, and not quite in the cellar with them, and it makes Dick hesitate.

 

“Ron?” He’s silent, and Nix stands up behind him, a little frown creasing his forehead. “Ron, I need to know you’re okay,” Dick says gently, tilting his chin up.

 

He’s relieved to see Speirs smile, dreamy but alert enough to respond to the question. “Yes, sir.”

 

Nix clearly hadn’t thought the response would be any different because he’s lubed up two fingers already. It’s a relief that Nix is prepared because Dick had been worried they’d have to use spit. Ron practically whimpers when Nix teases a finger over his rim. He’s trembling under Dick’s hands as Nix eases a finger inside.

 

Dick smiles and hopes it feels good. Feels fuller, feels like he’s wanted, not just needed, for once. Two pairs of lust-blown brown eyes look at him like he’s got them. And he has.

 

The muscles of Nix’s arm work as he fucks two, maybe three fingers inside and looks down over the stuttering rise and fall of Ron’s chest as he heaves in air. Nix’s eyes trail further still, down the flat of Ron’s abdomen to Dick’s steady pull on his cock. Dark eyes watch where the glistening head disappears in and out of Dick’s hand. When he palms over the tip, Nix bucks forwards as though he can feel Ron’s pleasure and blinks up at him, eyes wild - he looks like he’s been gifted two wine cellars.

 

“Fuck, Nix, _come on,”_ Speirs grits out.

 

In retaliation Nix bites down hard on his shoulder, but he obviously shifts his angle, a gentle twist of fingers that rub purposefully, because Ron cries out like electric sparks are streaming through him. He’s pressing closer to Dick, then closer to Nix, clutching and rubbing, holding on with bruising strength, pushing, pulling, and begging low in this throat and -

 

“Please, _please_.”

 

-  Dick chokes back a moan. There’s a vicious tug in his gut, a surging heat, and he can’t wait any longer.

 

“Yes, you can,” he breathes. “You can come.”

 

Ron’s orgasm seems to rock through them all. He spills hot lines of come up Dick’s stomach and Dick gasps as nails sting half crescents into his shoulders.

 

“Perfect,” Dick whispers into the shell of Ron’s ear.

 

Dick watches as Nix turns Ron’s head for a sloppy kiss. Touch, not words; his own brand of praise. And Ron is offering himself up for it. Back arching, Ron presses the curve of his ass against Nix’s erection, which is no doubt aching by now, and a low moan falls from Nix’s lips.

 

Dick runs a thumb up over Ron’s stomach, tracing over his cooling skin through the streaks of come. Collecting more on his finger, Dick meets Nix’s eyes. He presses the digit against already opening lips and lets Nix suck.

 

Nix needs him too.

 

“Ron?”

 

He raises his dark head, eyes focusing like he’s returning through layers of bliss. He blinks, re-centering, and looks back at Nix and down, sees him still hard and says, “I’m good.”

 

And even though Dick knows he means that he’s a-okay, that they should really see to Nix, he agrees, “Yes, you are,” in a soft, assured tone and waits to see if Speirs melts. Because he _is_ good. Ron’s eyes are heavy lidded and his mouth parts in a sort of awed smile. Dick smiles back, then turns to Nix. “Undress. Hands on the counter.”

 

Nix springs away like an eager puppy, a barely concealed excitement on his face, and Dick feels like he did the day he gave Nix the map from Brecourt.

 

Nix passes him the lube eagerly and Dick’s world hums in expectation, a thunderous roar when really it’s silent but for the fumbling sounds of impatient fingers on metal, zipper and cloth. Army issued boxers and pants at his ankles, Nix braces his hands on the counter. Flecks of golden light sparkle off the surface like spun sugar as he bows his back, feet slightly apart, then forgets to be coy and shuffles them wider.

 

Dick shivers. Nix is so beautiful when he’s wanton. So beautiful. The words may have slipped past his lips because a quiver runs down the lines of Nix’s back and he positively mewls.

 

Ron huffs a laugh. It's quiet as though there’s a spell he doesn’t want to break, and he pulls away so Dick can move. He stands tough even though it looks like his knees want to buckle, then he leans back in for a quick kiss, whispering against Dick’s lips.

 

“Can I help?”

 

Dick smiles against Ron’s mouth. “Yes, I want you to. On your knees.”

 

With automatic obedience, Ron lowers to the floor and curls into the space Nix has made. His wide eyes drink in where Nix hangs heavy and ready, and opens his lips with a slinky look up through his eyelashes.

 

“You better not be fucking around, Speirs,” Nix mutters. It’s a joke, because Speirs is anything but a tease, but his voice is thick with desire, strained from use.

 

All Dick sees is Ron’s sudden grin - it lights a fire in his eyes - and then he takes Nix into his mouth, sucking lightly on the head and wrapping a come-slicked hand around the base. With a dirty, wet noise and a filthy grin, Ron mouths over the tip and slides his fist quickly up the length.

 

Dick can feel Nix’s moan even more acutely than he can hear it, and every sharp inhale and muttered thanks to God for the apparent sanctity of Ron’s mouth and hand urges Dick to prepare him quicker. If he doesn’t, Nix won’t last. And nor will he.

 

Fingers wet with lubricant, Dick reaches down and circles, teases, presses in when Nix’s body remembers the drill. The room’s filled with the obscene, wet noises of Ron’s mouth and the tacky slide of lube as Dick pumps his fingers. He opens him up, avoiding that sweet spot that will make Nix keen. Not yet. Not quite yet.

 

When Nix is muffling half formed thoughts into his forearm, around his teeth because he’s biting down, Dick lines himself up. He groans at the first clasp of tight heat and rocks forward, pausing only long enough to ride out the initial surge of sparks which threaten to push him over the edge. The wait seems to be too long in Nix’s opinion. He’s pushing back impatiently, muttering curses and vows and oaths that he may or may not mean.

 

Dick wraps him into the circle of his arms, pulls him in with one splayed hand on his chest and another across his abdomen, and rolls his hips. Turning his head, Nix opens his mouth for a hot mess of a kiss over his shoulder. He meets Nix’s tongue, traces the sharp ridges of his teeth and swallows Nix’s pants and choked cries as he thrusts, too slowly for Nix’s taste but solid and grounding and murmuring praise because Nix deserves it.

 

Looking down, he meets Ron’s hooded eyes and watches him hollow his cheeks. He runs a hand through Ron’s sweaty hair, the only warning before he thrusts hard. He lets his weight push Nix forward, hands slapping onto the stone to brace himself. Dick will admit it’s a little rough,  but they can take it - Speirs doesn’t gag, doesn’t even falter, and Nix is pressing his forehead to the cool granite and chanting, “Yes, yes, yes.” Dick abandons restraint then, because the truth is _he’s_ the one that follows _them_.

 

A thrill rockets through his whole body with every snap of hips that crashes them together. He wraps his fingers around Nix’s wrists possessively to feel the pulse jump, knowing that that alone will work Nix up even more. Almost the instant Dick’s hands are pinning his, Nix cries out and starts bucking back frantically. He’s hissing something into the stone, forehead rubbing back and forth, but Dick can’t hear it over the sinful slap of skin and the pounding of blood in his ears.

 

“What is it, Lew?” He coaxes. “Say it again.”

 

“Yours.”

 

Dick almost stumbles, losing rhythm. The words tingle in his chest, a rush of emotion, deep and easy and right. “Yes. Mine. And his.”

 

Nix cries out. “Yes.” He reaches a hand down and blindly palms Ron’s jaw.

 

“Oh, _fuck_.”

 

“I know,” he soothes mindlessly.

 

“Dick, I can’t...can I-”

 

Dick hears Ron’s muffled moan, vibrations cutting off the rest of Nix’s sentence, and a sound rumbles at the back of Dick’s throat that sounds a lot like a growl. “Yeah, yeah Lew, please…”

 

He’s almost there, teetering on the edge when Nix crashes into the first wave of his climax and it rips away the last of Dick’s restraint. He comes in an intense rush, nails sharp on Nix’s hips, hoarse cry buried against the nape of his neck.

 

~

 

**_Nix_ **

 

When Nix’s brain finally refires, the first thing he feels is the line of Dick’s strong body against his back, the spill of tender words against his temple and the splayed hand that palms up the length of his spine and molds around the column of his neck in one soothing, grounding movement. Nix feels like his whole body is sighing.

 

He looks down to where Dick’s other hand is threaded into the thick tangle of Ron’s hair, moving gently.  Long moments later, Speirs seems to sense Nix watching him because he turns his heavy lidded gaze upwards. His eyes are shining and Nix can’t help but wonder how goddamn stunning that smile would be if he weren’t holding it back from lighting the whole of his face.

 

But then, Nix thinks, it’s probably divine intervention that Ron’s still conscious at all. He must have braced himself against the wild buck of Nix’s hips as he came to avoid getting his head clocked on the stone, must’ve been expecting it, like a recoil from a sated gun.

 

Maybe the only blessing is that Nix can still think at all.

 

“Holy shit,” he mutters. Not particularly profound, but he doesn’t much care - the sight of Speirs so pliant and Dick so controlled is a high for Nix that even the buzz of alcohol can’t beat.

 

He certainly has no agency over his body. He’s sagging against the counter, slipping out of Dick’s arms as he’s handed over to Speirs who in turn guides him to the floor. He leans against the stone and the shock of cold sobers him.

 

Now sitting beside him, Dick leans over to press a kiss to his hairline. At the same time he rubs one of Nix’s dog tags between his thumb and forefinger - a tacit, yet unspoken way of saying, “I love you,” when they’re around other people. Even Ron.

 

Nix smiles stupidly. “Happy VE Day,” he sighs on a trickle of laughter. It’s not funny but Dick is grinning. He assesses the three of them - a tangle of emotions and limbs. “Think this place is soundproof?”

 

Dick shoots him a sideways look. “I think it’s probably a bit late to be thinking about it now.”

 

“Look at it this way, if they bust us they won’t want us in Japan.”

 

He feels Speirs tensing next to him. Maybe Ron wants to go.

 

The truth is their fate would be a lot worse than instant dismissal if they were caught. But they’ve all made questionable choices in their careers, and really this one isn’t even that near the top of the list. Still, he doesn’t want Ron to put the shutters back up so he kisses up the curve of his neck, a series of sweet barely there brushes of lips, and when he re-emerges he tries to lighten the mood.

 

He nudges Dick. “You know O’Keefe’s gonna explode every time you talk to him now.”

 

And _now,_ after everything they've just done _,_ Dick blushes. He clears his throat like the epitome of propriety and Nix snorts. He spends a few moments trying to make Dick crack, receiving only an odd look and an impressively well suppressed smile in response, but is distracted when Ron speaks suddenly.

 

“Do you think Carwood knows?”

 

Nix double takes. The blunt delivery isn’t a surprise but the question is unexpected. Despite his steely tone, Ron is gently slotting his fingers between Nix’s and there’s a hint of color on his cheeks.

 

Dick’s almost definitely about to say something sensible, so Nix jumps in first. “Absolutely.”

 

Dick’s gaze flicks between the two of them, a little frown forming.

 

“Not about this,” Nix clarifies quickly with a broad hand gesture that encompasses three sex sated bodies and Herman Göring’s wine cellar. “But about Ron wanting him? Yes, he knows. Without a doubt.”

 

Ron narrows his eyes but his voice is fairly mild when he asks, “Who told him?”

 

“You,” he says neutrally. “Every time you touch him. Or bribe me into acquiring extra blankets when he’s sick-”

 

“Bribed for what?” Dick cuts in.

 

“You already know.” He smirks with a barely contained joy and turns his attention back to Ron while Dick puzzles over it. “Of course he knows. Hell, you tell him every time you look in his general direction or stand near him… really near him.”

 

Speirs’ death glare doesn’t bother Nix in the slightest.

 

Dick nudges him. “Cut it out, Nix.” Then after a beat of silence, he looks at Ron and quietly suggests, “You should tell him.”

 

“Hmm,” Ron responds. It’s a noncommittal noise. Apparently he’s done with the conversation, but his eyes are soft and docile.

 

Dick stands up, a quick economical unfolding, and Nix groans. “Get back down here.”

 

The responding snort cracks Nix’s glare wide open. Dick holds a hand out to each of them, and yes, Nix is going to need it - he feels like he’s geared up with a full pack and weapons.

 

“Look sharp. We need to get moving,” Dick says with a pointed look at Nix.

 

Ron’s already taken the proffered hand and is on his feet, zipping up and straightening out his gorgeous sex hair, which really is a shame in Nix’s opinion. He’s found a cloth behind the counter that was probably intended to polish glasses and is wiping away the last traces of release from his stomach. There isn’t a single splash of come on his shirt and Nix doesn’t even know why he’s surprised.

 

When Nix relents with a sigh and is once again standing and buckled, Dick pressed close against his back, he looks up to see Ron surveying the walls with interest. His fingers are twitching but he’s making no move to reach for his cigarette packet and Nix narrows his eyes. He can practically see Ron calculating how many bottles he can ship home.

 

“What the hell are you doing?”

 

Speirs shrugs, but there’s a smirk in the way his eyes gleam. He starts a slow stalk past the racks, letting his hand brush the corks as he goes.

 

“Don’t you fucking dare, Speirs,” Nix says.“You can come back when I’m done.”

 

The room hums with the sound of Dick’s chuckle, muffled as it is between Nix’s shoulder blades. The bottles gleam and sparkle, waiting, watching, for a new story.

 

Grinning, Nix grabs Speirs and drags him close to kiss the glare off his face. 

 

~

**Notes:**

  * Thank you for reading! If you want to get in touch, you can find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/little-lottie)




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